


Dance With Me

by gallifreyslostson



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, GitF Fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 05:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4208886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyslostson/pseuds/gallifreyslostson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rose has an anxiety fueled dream about a historical figure, the Doctor’s comfort takes an unexpected turn.</p>
<p>(read: unexpected literally only for him.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance With Me

**Author's Note:**

> Birthday fic for the lovely and adorable tinyconfusion on tumblr and graciously looked over by rudennotgingr. Happy Birthday, Jenny!

_“Who is she?”_

_“Jeanne-Antoinette Poisson, known to her friends as Reinette. One of the most accomplished women who ever lived.”_

oOoOo

_“So, that Doctor, eh?”_

_“What are you talking about?”_

_“Well. Madame de Pompadour. Sarah Jane Smith. Cleopatra.”_

_“Cleopatra. He mentioned her once.”_

_“Yeah, but he called her Cleo.”_

oOoOo

_“Are you okay?”_

_“No, I'm very afraid. But you and I both know, don't we, Rose, the Doctor is worth the monsters.”_

oOoOo

_“We can't fly the Tardis without him. How's he going to get back?”_

oOoOo

_“Are you alright?”_

_“I'm always alright.”_

oOoOo

Rose woke with a start and blinked tears out of her eyes, the Doctor’s heartbroken posture and expression still swimming in her vision, the very picture of loss.  After a few seconds, though, her sympathy started being drowned out by an intense rage at everything that happened in the dream _before_ that, _leading_ to that.

He’d left her and Mickey in a stupid abandoned spaceship for some french bird who had called _Rose_ a child!  Of all the stupid...always had to show off, Rose knew that about him, but he _left_!  And just after saying that wouldn’t happen to her, too, the bloody liar.  Yeah, alright, maybe she wasn’t “one of the most accomplished women who ever lived”, but she bloody well deserved better than that!

A tiny voice in her head told her she was being ridiculous, that it was just a dream, but she ignored it as she shoved her covers aside and stomped out into the hall.  She’d had a niggling worry about the firmness of her relationship with the Doctor since the school, no matter how good of terms she’d ended on with Sarah Jane, and it felt good to be angry instead of just nervous and uncertain.  For the moment, anyway, she was fully willing to embrace that, no matter how ludicrous and unfounded it was.

The Doctor was therefore blindsided when he looked up at the sound of someone entering the library only to be pelted furiously with pillows.  His book dropped from his hands as he raised his arms in defense.

“Stupid bloody Time Lord, galactic Casanova more like!”

The words were even more confusing than the fluffy assault, and the Doctor grabbed blindly to try to at least hinder the latter and attempt to get his bearings back.

“Rose.  Rose!”  He caught her wrists to stop the pillows, surprised at her furious expression and more than a little distracted by her heaving chest.  “While death by pillows certainly isn’t the worst way to go by any means, mind explaining what I’m being punished for?”

“You left me!” she shrieked, and his eyebrows shot practically to his hairline.  “On an abandoned spaceship in the year three million and who cares, all for some... _dancing_ with the King’s mistress!”

The Doctor stared at her blankly, mouth moving silently as he tried to process her words and failed completely.  “Rose, what are you talking about?”

Rose huffed, then dropped the pillows and sat back on the sofa with her arms crossed tightly over her chest--a pity, really.  The Doctor pushed the thought away; wayward thoughts about his companion weren’t allowed at the best of times, much less when she was obviously upset with him.

“It was a dream,” she muttered.

“A dream,” the Doctor repeated, still staring at her.  “You’re beating me because of something I did in your dream?”  She shot him a look, and he held his hands up quickly in surrender.  “Not that that’s a problem.  Just making sure I’ve got it straight.  I apologize for any wrong my dream self has done.  So...what was it I did, exactly?”

“You were saving this...historical figure,” she sighed, rolling her eyes.  “And you...had...feelings for her or something, I dunno.”

“Not possible,” the Doctor said assuredly.  “So there’s that.  Which historical figure, out of curiosity?”

Rose hesitated, narrowing her eyes at him for a moment, then sighed and looked away again.  “Madame de Pompadour.”

“Right.”  The Doctor raised his eyes above her head, considering this.  “Well...one thing’s for sure, that’s enough documentaries for you before bed.  Mind you, if I was gonna leave you for anyone, I could do worse.”  Her head whipped around with a horrified expression, and he coughed awkwardly.  “Sorry.  Joke...one in...admittedly poor taste.  But listen, Rose,” he went on, putting an arm around her rigid shoulders and scooting closer, “I’m not going to leave you on any derelict spaceship to chase after history in a fancy dress, alright?  Mickey remains to be seen, but he might still come into his own.”  Her lips twitched a little.  “Was that a smile?”

“Don’t start, I’m still mad at you,” she said, and he straightened his expression out and nodded sagely.  “You kissed her, you know.”

“Really?  Well, if it makes you feel any better, pre-revolutionary France wasn’t exactly known for its dental hygiene, aristocracy or no, so it can’t have been all that pleasant."

"Well, you certainly didn't seem to mind," Rose snorted.

"There, now, that's how you know it's a dream."

"Suppose," she said, bringing a hand up to nibble on a nail.

"What is it?" he asked, pinching her arm gently with his free hand.

"She...she got into your head," Rose said with a shrug, and he frowned.  "The way you can sometimes.  She saw all sorts of things about you, called you her 'lonely angel'."

"Okay, ignoring for a moment the fact that a seventeenth century French woman was able to see into _my_ head--because let me tell you, Rose, the likeliness of _that_ is slim enough to call it impossible--'lonely angel'?  Bit dramatic," he sniffed.  "For one thing, I'm no angel, and you've never had to see into my mind to know that.  For another, who says I'm lonely?  I've got you."

“So long as you don’t abandon me in some spaceship,” she added, but she was smiling this time.

“Noted,” he replied with his own grin, dropping a kiss to her forehead before standing and holding his hands out to her.  “Come on, you should probably get back to bed.”

“Yeah, suppose,” Rose sighed, allowing him to pull her upright.  “It was pretty dashing though, even if it was all thoroughly misguided.  Mounting a horse, crashing through a time window, saving the girl...very you.”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a shrug.  “But there’s only one girl in the universe I’d go to all that trouble for.  And it’s not Madame de Pompadour.”

He realized his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth.  Her mouth dropped open a little, and she stared up at him as he swallowed hard and scrambled for a way to backtrack.

“Well, what I mean, of course, is that--”

He was cut off when he suddenly found her lips on his and her hands fisting into the lapels of his jacket.  He reeled backwards in surprise, but she kept with him a few paces until he bumped into the fireplace.  It was only then, when he had nowhere to run anymore, that the want for her that had been growing exponentially even from his last body finally overpowered his compulsive need for distance and self-preservation; he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against him as he angled his head to deepen the kiss, mapping out her mouth with his tongue when she opened it against his.

It didn’t escape Rose’s attention that this much had played out incredibly similarly to his kiss with Reinette in her dream--except that it was _her_ that had him backed against the fireplace, _her_ he was kissing as if his life depended on it, _her_ he was looking at with a dazed expression when she finally came up for air.  Keeping eye contact, she let her hands trail down his chest to his hips before reaching around her for his hands and backing away.

“Dance with me, Doctor,” she murmured, tugging him with her toward the sofa.

“I can’t,” he replied, voice husky, but the hungry look he raked over her contradicted his words completely.

“Dance with me,” she repeated, settling down on the sofa and pulling him down with her between her legs.  He sucked in a sharp breath when he realized she wasn’t wearing her customary sleep shorts under her oversized t-shirt--she’d been so angry when she’d left her room that she’d forgotten to put them on--and didn’t resist when she looped her arms around his neck to pull him down for another kiss.  His hand skimmed over her thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps, and she arched against him as she moved her lips to his neck.  There was a low moan against her ear that sounded like her name when her pelvis met his, his own arousal unmistakable, and the hand on her hip tightened convulsively.  She felt lightheaded as his free hand tangled in her hair to pull her head up and to the side to give him access to her neck.

She moved her hands down to his chest, fumbling a moment with the buttons of his jacket before she pushed it from his shoulders.  He let go of her long enough for her to guide it from his arms before he was clutching at her again, snaking one hand between them to push aside her knickers and slip a finger through her slick folds.  He groaned against her mouth, and her hips jumped when his questing fingers found her clit.  Beyond frustrated by the year plus of foreplay, her hands went to his trousers, undoing the fly with impatient fingers and wrestling both his pants and trousers down past his hips before wrapping a leg around him and pulling him closer.  He took the hint; he kissed her briefly, then rested his forehead against hers as he pulled her knickers further to the side and sank into her.

Their breathless moans mixed together as he settled inside her, pausing for a moment before moving.  When he did, Rose let out a sound like a sob at the feel of it, him moving inside her, rocking against her with every thrust, the strong hand on her hip and it’s hints of pressure leading her like a partner in a dance to meet him.  She heard her name again, along with a curse she was surprised and more than a little grateful that the TARDIS had been willing to translate when her hand reached under his shirt to rake her nails down his back.

As good as that was, it wasn’t until he lifted a hand to the arm of the sofa under her head that he gained the leverage to perfect the angle, and she started panting as she felt the coil of tension inside her tighten.  His movements became more erratic as his control fractured, and the knowledge that she’d brought him to that point, that it was her and him and this moment and it was perfect, drove her over the edge.  He swallowed her shout as she came around him, then followed after another two thrusts with a hoarse cry, rocking against her as he emptied himself inside her.

They stayed like that a long moment, riding out their climaxes and then catching their breath, before he finally pulled out of her with a groan.  Rose shifted her knickers back into place and sat up, drawing her knees up to her chest as he pulled up his pants and trousers and did up the fly, although he didn’t bother to tuck his shirt back in.

“Are...are you okay?” she asked hesitantly, and he looked up at her before his eyes started roaming thoughtfully.

“Um...I’m not sure that ‘okay’ is really an accurate description for my current state,” he said slowly, and his eyes cut back to her as his lips twitched.  “But it’s certainly not bad.  C’mere.”

She didn’t have to be asked twice; she flew across the sofa into his arms as he laughed, and ended up straddling his thighs when she finally settled, her arms looped loosely around his neck and his hands on her hips.

“So when you said it wasn’t possible for you to have feelings for her--”

He cut her off with a click of his tongue as he shook his head.  “Haven’t had a heart to give away in a while.  Not since I blew up that shop.”

“Good answer,” she said, smiling at him.

“There you are then,” he said, raising one hand to the back of her neck and pulling her closer.  “Cure for my rudeness: sex with Rose.”

“I’m gonna make you _so_ polite,” she said, shaking her head a little before leaning down to kiss him.

He did get her back to bed after that.  Sleep, on the other hand, took a lot longer, which suited Rose just fine.  She thought about the dream again later, nestled in the Doctor’s side with his bare chest as a pillow beneath her cheek, and couldn’t help giggling at how completely out of touch the whole thing had been, as traumatic as it had felt at the time.

“Well, that’s how dreams are,” the Doctor said when she explained her laughing fit.  “Always seem to have a script written by a madman with no concept of reality or the people involved.”

“I like this us much better,” she told him seriously.

“Me too,” he agreed, grinning at her before pulling her up for a kiss.


End file.
